


you were always gold to me

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e05 Dust and Shadows, I'm really really proud of this fic, M/M, Making Up, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Simon, POV Simon Lewis, Simon Lewis has a lot of feelings, Simon finally realizes he's in love, a hefty dose of metaphor and feelings, a softer side of simon, someone help this boy, we're all proud of you but damn that slow burn romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 13:33:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9551207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: They take away the good in Raphael and reduce him to teeth like talons, a heart of stone. They don't even have to say the words when his name comes up - "He's a monster."No, Simon wants to say. You've never witnessed him stripped bare, armor lying at his feet with a softness in his eyes that makes Simon want to turn away. But they were present when the high walls around his heart became a weapon. They heard the words "Kill them" and glossed over what wasn't being said - 'Of all the people, why did it have to be you? I wanted you to stay.'  Nor did they hear the full extent of Simon's betrayal, how it cut straight into tendons where it bled the most - 'Is it too late to go back?'They cannot see the gold in him.





	

_everything goes away_  
_yeah everything goes away_  
_but I'm gonna be here until I'm nothing_  
_but bones in the ground_  
_so quiet down_

([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KOQQjucbIOg))

* * *

 

 

Raphael's eyes are hard marble of the darkest night with teeth like knives that could slice through skin with no effort at all.

But there is beauty in how he walks like he never lost the sun. There's grace in how he holds his head up high, shoulders back when the world swings punch after punch. He takes everything in stride as if he has long since adjusted to the darkness without a single flame and Simon? He's just another tiny moth searching for the faint flicker of smoke because he knows it's there somewhere. Every once in awhile he swears he see's tendrils of smoke in a lingering touch, a glimpse of happiness. It makes him want to capture it in a jar just to hold it up high for the world to see -  _This is how hot he burns, see the goodness and not the soot. See him like I do._

They never do. 

They take away the good in him and reduce him to teeth like talons, a heart of stone. They don't even have to say the words when his name comes up -  _He's a monster._ No, Simon wants to say. You've never witnessed him stripped bare, armor lying at his feet with a softness in his eyes that makes Simon want to turn away. But they were present when the high walls around his heart became a weapon. They heard the words  _Kill them_ and glossed over what wasn't being said -  _Of all the people, why did it have to be you?_   _I wanted you to stay._  Nor did they hear the full extent of Simon's betrayal, how it cut straight into tendons where it bled the most -  _Is it too late to go back?_

 They cannot see the gold in him.

* * *

 

 

It's some six weeks after Simon knocked everything off balance, upside down, when Raphael returns. He comes in the form of a hurricane, eyes cold as Winter and hands that push and shove. His words are harsh and biting and yeah, ok. Simon deserves it, G-d knows he does but it hurts more than he thought it would. 

He begins to show up unannounced weekly and it's unnerving having him near, knowing what they had is a pile of ashes at Simon's feet. His bitterness tastes like cyanide and it's all Simon can do to stand there and take it. He's collapsing on the inside and even heaven can't save him now; he knows this, knows it like the curve of Raphael's neck. Days slide into weeks and Simon dreams of a hard fence behind his back and Raphael's angry snarl where a smirk should've been. It's haunting and relentless even in the daylight hours. His routine goes like this: _feed_ _, sleep, talk to Clary, check the phone, think of him_. 

God it's painful. 

If he could will his mouth to work he'd ruin everything by saying it out loud like,  _I'm afraid of many things but you scare me in a way that shakes me to my core. I've never felt quite so transparent than when you look at me and it makes me want to do stupid things like sleep in your bed, wear your clothes, fall in love. I miss you, I'm scared._ But it won't budge and they're locked away without a key.

On the outside it looks a lot like an earthquake shaping wide eyed canyons and filling them with fear. To bystanders it looks like mutual annihilation. 

* * *

 

 

Camille has been returned to the clave courtesy of Magnus, Simon has came out of the blood stained closet and only one of them went over well. His mother gave him the boot and he thought, with an uneven balance of a wounded heart and spite,  _Another one bites the dust._ There's a certain irony in that. 

* * *

 

 

Raphael is hiding in the shadows of the boathouse when they see one another next. It's been one week, two days since Elaine Lewis sobbed and pushed him out the door. It's been three days since Clary stroked his hand and pecked him on the cheek. It's time for another blow to his already wounded ego, he thought. It'd be nice if the universe could cut him some slack once in awhile. 

A heavy rain colors the sky in shades of gray and slaps the roof with a curtain of raindrops. It's a great night to be completely gutted. 

 

"It's drafty in here," says a low voice, emerging from the shadow of a stack of canoes. 

Raphael comes into full view and Simon wills his fool heart to stop falling in love with dead things. It's not healthy. 

"It's a boathouse," Simon replies. His words come out flat and lacking conviction. He's been through the perfect circle of hell on earth and now is  _not_ the time for idle chit chat especially when it's coming from lips he still longs to taste. 

Pathetic. 

Raphael steps closer, curious eyes taking in his surroundings. Simon can't imagine what he must think of the place with it's worn down furniture and gas cans littering the cement floor. "Where do you sleep?"

Simon points toward the canoe at the very top. "Up there."

Raphael purses his lips together which cannot be a good sign. What the hell has he done wrong this time? He's hardly ventured out of the boathouse and when he did it was to get supplies. The only person he ever talks to is Clary and it's business as usual with her.

"Why are you here, Raphael? Don't you have a meeting of destiny or some blood ritual to get back to?" 

 

Even he knows how petty he's being and how he doesn't have a leg to stand on here, considering he caused this mess by taking bad advice and freeing Camille. He'd thrown away everything he'd worked hard for within less than an hour and as a result he'd lost his mother and Raphael. For different reasons but they're gone all the same. Thankfully Clary understands that she's no Dear Abby and had apologized immediately after. He's not sure how to feel about that because of how gently and cautiously she'd uttered Raphael's name, as if the mere mention of it might shatter him. 

It was almost like she  _knew._

 

In the present, Raphael ignores the question and adjusts his jacket. It's a navy blue number with a black v-neck underneath and dark trousers. The color really is stunning on him and it's thoughts like this that remind Simon to keep his distance. 

"Have you fed?" Raphael questions. He seems uncertain, a stranger in an unfamiliar element. They haven't been on this level in what feels like centuries and it's a real slap in the face. 

"I'm running low," Simon lies. He'd devoured three field mice last night and puked nearly half of it up after. He feels sick, skin sticky to the touch, legs rubbery like they're waiting for the right time to give up. Ha. They're late to the party, he thought. 

"Good." 

He jerks his head up, poised to launch a vicious verbal attack. 

"Because I thought you might need these," Raphael finishes. He steps back into the shadows and emerges with a bulging army green duffle bag, holds it out like an olive branch. Simon snatches it from his hand and downs a bag without stopping to take a break. 

"You're off the hook so you can stop pretending that we're friends now," he spits, venom on his tongue. Simon is no longer a part of the clan family, he's an outcast that sleeps like a stray. When he'd held the title of Advisor to the Interim Chapter President, Raphael had wordlessly pushed a bag of blood in his hand every few hours and Simon had never thought to ask why he did that. But it's water under the bridge, a past lined with Don't Enter signs. 

Raphael's mouth forms a straight line and a small crease takes up residence between his brows - he's the sort of angry that says,  _I care about you, idiot._ It's sort of sweet in a _You're an asshole but I still love you_ way.

"I didn't come here to offer charity." He says, affronted.

"Good because I'm doing just  _fine._ "  Simon's voice cracks on the last word because no. He's not and it couldn't be further from the truth. Maybe somewhere in his subconscious, his body knew he needed one person in particular to hold him. 

"Simon," Raphael murmurs. He crosses the room in the same way he loves; intense but apprehensive as if he's trying to figure out if he has the right to comfort Simon or whether having permission or not even matters. Either way, he's wrapping his arms around Simon in the blink of an eye. He has one hand resting on the nape of his neck and the other curled around his lower back. 

Simon melts.

His voice comes out muffled, face buried in the crook of Raphael's neck (he smells like that something he's been missing) when he speaks. 

"Thank you."

He feels a nod against his skin and wonders how the hell he managed to get this man to save him not once but multiple times. He's been an absolute asshole, has taken him for granted, chose others when he should've been choosing him and not once has he said thank you or apologized. If he were someone else he would've said  _I'm sorry, I love you. I'm sorry, I just wanted to do the right thing_ the minute he slipped up but he's not. He's Simon  _I sabotage myself for fun_ Lewis so he took Raphael's threat to heart and everything went to shit after. 

 

He doesn't deserve it but here is affection, open and waiting for him to take what he wants. Here is someone who has had his back through it all, taught him to control his impulses, took him in and  _wanted_ to keep him, someone who hissed at the werewolf pack for merely pushing Simon. In this dusty boathouse there is a man without a pulse who once carried his lifeless body and guilted himself about it more often than not (Yes he'd noticed the pained staring at a space where his heart should be beating). 

He is being given a second chance if he wants it. 

 

The concept of accepting Raphael's love ( _love?_ it has to be) in full is terrifying. The man loves like religion and takes nothing lightly. When he's in, he's all in and they've eternity ahead of them. Letting the chips fall where they may is a huge leap but if they're going to start somewhere, it might as well be now. 

With that he latches onto the other's waist, blunt nails gripping the fabric of his jacket in a desperate stronghold. Breathing is pointless but he finds himself inhaling anyway. He breathes in orange blossoms mixed with a woodsy smell, takes in Raphael's very essence clinging to his clothes and never wants to let go. 

"Is this home?" Raphael asks, gently stroking the nape of Simon's neck with his thumb. 

Simon burrows further into him, eyelashes against skin. He nods and clutches him harder. In his arms he can feel a shiver go through Raphael. 

"It is the same for me," he murmurs. 

His behavior is a sharp contrast to that of the take charge clan leader with a chip on his shoulder and Simon thinks,  _I know the real you._

When he pulls back, cold lips find his own again and again in a rush of heat and love they've been denying since the beginning. When a slick tongue finds his own, he thinks about gold and fire. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know their relationship feels one sided but simon does love raphael in his own awkward-I'm not good at this-way. he's the king of wanting what he thinks he cannot have and missing the obvious. he loves raphael in a different way than he loves clary and that's not a bad thing, to separate the two. 
> 
> in the end it's up to simon to finally open his eyes and use his words. here's to hoping it's him who comes out in episode 10 ;)


End file.
